"The Wake for Lyre Talespinner" Log Date: 11/5/00 Log Cast: Assorted NPCs (emitted by Faanshi), Prying-Eagle, Faanshi, Onaelian, Masin and other NPCs emitted by Onaelian, David (PC alt emitted by Faanshi), Kaiulani (PC alt emitted by Faanshi) Log Intro: The death of her beloved Lyre Talespinner has been so devastating to Faanshi that the young shudra healer has barely managed to absorb its impact on her own life--much less anyone else's. Courtesy of a strange dream about her beloved's spirit visiting her in the night, she has begun to come to grips with his loss at least in some tiny fashion... but even so, she hasn't really registered that Lyre made an impact on others in the city of Haven as well. Mongrels, some Sylvans, a single darkling Empyrean... and other bards as well... all gather in the old city garden, determined to make appropriate farewells to one of their own, and to do what they can for his bereaved beloved, who also doesn't realize what kind of impact _she_ has had upon them.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Evening Date on Aether: Tuesday, May 7, 3907. Year on Earth: 1507 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Last Quarter Season: Spring Weather: Clouds Temperature: Cool *==========================================================================* Old City Garden - Haven A strange thing, to some, to see such a thick, unbridled mass of forest within the city walls. Even during the brightest days, it is shady here; looming tree branches above filter out the sunlight, casting shadows that might be relieving during a warm summer day, or alternatively fearsome by night. The heart of the garden is most often alive with the chirps and chitters of the wildlife that makes its home here. Still, some civilization prevails, if only tentatively. A wide, roughly cobbled road stretches east to west, suitable for the usual traffic of a city street, if a bit precariously. Benches line the various man-made paths, reminding the visitor that this is indeed intended to be a respite from the bustle of the town, and is not merely some uncontrolled mass of trees within Haven. Contents: Kosha OOC SIGN: Rules for the Wake! Obvious exits: Streets Garden Archway Prying-Eagle enters the shady depths of the town garden from the east. Prying-Eagle has arrived. In ones and twos and clumps they have gathered, bards and music-makers from all over the poorer parts of Haven. Most of them are Mongrels, though there's a scattering of Sylvans amongst them, and even one Empyrean with black wings. They bring with them lyres and little harps, lutes and whistles and drums, and each and every one of them has one purpose in mind: joining together to make music in honor of one of their own who's gone on to the afterlife. As evening falls across the Old City Garden, this normally peaceful part of Haven begins to fill with the noise and chatter of earthy, merry people bent on having a good time. Blankets are thrown down upon the ground to sit upon. A fire-pit is dug for a crackling bonfire, and several able-bodied young men stack up piles of wood to keep the flame lit. Shouts and laughter and conversation rise up into the darkening air, over the top of the noises of musicians beginning to warm up their instruments. So what did the young Sylvan do this very morning here? He chased a raven, climbed trees for owls, and fell down the same tree with a suddenly naked young woman. Prying-Eagle has had a full day. But when he enters the festivities, he is quiet, yet focused. Perhaps he is looking for someone particular among the throngs of people. Though most of the folk in view tonight do seem to be Mongrels, still, at the moment nobody seems inclined to turn any other races away, to be sure. There's a few stout, brawny men on the fringe of the growing gathering looking about with alert gazes -- there, perhaps, to ensure that something like peace is kept -- but on the whole smiles are getting exchanged and given to anyone who seems to draw near. Spotted by three different passing young people, Prying-Eagle is hailed and welcomed. "C'mon over, lad, gonna help us out tonight an' send th' Talespinner off proper?" "Want summat t' wet yer throat? Be welcome!" A few dozen people already appear to have gathered, comparatively young though the evening is. Since the darkness hasn't truly fallen it's easy to pick out individuals here and there -- roughly clad folk, the lot of them, usually. Tonight though many have brought out their better garments, and brightly dyed shirts and cloaks can be spotted, as well as the occasional cheap but shiny trinket to ornament a hand or a neck. In the midst of even this modest finery it's easy to overlook someone wearing black -- or it would be, at least, if Faanshi were not being tugged along by two determined young Mongrel women, with Kosha scampering back and forth around them all. The shudra maiden has her eyes closed, and her escorts appear to be exhorting her to keep them that way. Prying-Eagle raises himself on his toes, looking over the heads of people.. He wants to meet Faanshi.. He heard rumours about some festivites and a young Shudra maiden.. Kosha he recognizes right away.. He is distracted by all the musicians and people welcoming him quite warmly, and shrugs, grinning slightly, and lets them draw him into the festivities any way they like.. Perhaps it will bring him towards Faanshi eventually.. He never met this Lyre though.. "I'll do my best", he tells one, a bit sheepishly and uncertainly.. "Alright.. one drink then", he tells another. He feels a bit out of place. The rumors, it seems, are true. "Okay, then, Miss Faanshi, open them eyes o' your'n!" cries one of the Mongrel girls, gesturing expansively at the growing throng once she and her compatriot have tugged the shudra close enough. As Kosha barks out a greeting to several folk who appear to know him, delightedly scampering around and sniffing offered hands and wagging his tail at top speed, Faanshi is obviously overwhelmed. Wide green eyes look this way and that that; with her black veil in the way it's impossible to tell if she's gaping, but apparently her surprise is obvious enough to all. A cheer rises up from several throats: "Talespinner's gel! Bring 'er up t' th' fire, lasses, set 'er down!" "Up ye get, then!" pipes the other Mongrel girl escorting the healer, an ear to ear grin on her freckled face. "This... what is all this?" Faanshi breathes, even as she's hustled into the heart of the throng. Several of these faces are familiar. They're folk she's healed, and she knows at least some of them by sight and by having seen them perform with Lyre. But why are they _here_? Why is _she_ here? She must murmur this aloud, though it's lost in the overall babble of voices that reply to her, assuring her that the party is for Lyre Talespinner. And that they could hardly have a proper wake for him without _her_. Deeply moved once the impact of all this sinks home, the shudra lets herself be sat down upon a blanket not far from the bonfire. Onaelian arrives from the shady path to the west. Onaelian has arrived. The sounds of revelrie reach her ears well before she actually comes upon the gathering; Onaelian, as ever, is dressed to the nines in her leather and wool. Padding quietly along the path, her gray gaze falls first upon the bonfire, and then on the Empyrean. Does he look a bit familiar? Perhaps. Tugging her shortcloak over her shoulders for a more cape-ish look, she steps into the light. Spotting a young man by the name of Masin, she makes her way towards him. Now /that/ is a familiar face. The young bard is smiling softly as he sings a gentle tune to two dark mongrel lovlies, Andrui and Tomain. The former of the girls looks up at him with lusty yellow eyes, smiling occasionally at Tomain as Masin sings of a lost love: "Oh true, the summer's wind has gone, And true, my love is with it, I know that someday, not to long, She'll be in my arms again.. Onae winces; Masin is just a /touch/ too off key for her to enjoy the song up close. She'll leave that up to the pups he is playing to. Turning instead to the fire, she clasps her hands behind her back and mingles. Prying-Eagle is led about, without seemingly being aware of it, somewhere around where Onaelian is with her friends. He both feels and looks out of place, offering friendly, but sheepish and distracted smiles to those that approach him. He knows only Faanshi! Being a lonely traveller.. so many strange faces. He's being led about, his back slapped, and talked to.. And anyone could probably lead him into anything... Songs of lost love are certainly appropriate for the evening -- and here, folks are just getting started. But the fact that Masin has begun to sing has inspired several of the other folks with instruments to start joining in. A lute comes in, the lutist industriously tuning up to try to compensate for the singer's ever so slight off pitch. Then a harp and a flute join the melody line. Since the tune's a slow one, the music begins to swell around the gathering, offsetting calls and laughter -- and a few folks even begin to sing along, further blurring Masin's skewed pitch with off-key pitches of their own. After all, nobody here's likely to quibble if you sing off-key. The point is to _sing_. In the midst of it all, Faanshi looks rather lost herself, surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes as two different women pat her gently on the back. It's Kosha that finds Prying-Eagle first, barrelling out of the throng to practically tackle the young Sylvan wanderer. You! Hey! I know you! "Hey, Kosha!", Prying-Eagle exclaims, and ruffles the large dogs fur with his hands affectionately. "So where's your mistress? She's so short.. I can't see her. " Some good mood is eventually returning to him. Then suddenly, two Sylvan men and a woman whisk him away, for some drinking and dancing, and he practically stumbles away backwards at first, holding out his hand for Kosha as if stubbornly trying to go back for a moment.. But soon, he is lost in the crowds among the others. Perhaps he'll run into Faanshi later.. The former Captain of the now-sunk Dolphin's Fin wanders about aimlessly, grinning ear to ear. Masin certainly has aroused the crowd. "Ah, but 'e'll grown intae it yet," she murmurs to herself, pausing with crossed arms to assess the gathering. Her interest is captured by Faanshi, one of the few people with tears instead of laughter. That must be the one; with a sure stride, the woman crosses the distance between them -- requiring a few dips and weaves -- and produces her gift. "Now missy," she murmurs, holding out her hand. "Thar's no need f'r yer tears. Look 'ere, all these folk gatherin' ta celebrate yer friend... join them! S'wha th' Talespinner would want too, of tha' I'm sure." Nestled in the calloused palm is a pin, a dolphin made of shining black onyx. Masin continues the song, encouraged by those gathering around him to sing and play. Fortunately, while the tune is slow in the first ten or so measures, it picks up and becomes a rather lively and lovely riot of notes. Couples begin to dance, laughing and flinging themselves about the garden with gay abandon; even Tomain is moved enough to take up with an older man wearing a flamboyant red coat. Andrui remains quietly by Masin's side, and as picks at his harp she only watches, pale yellow eyes flickering about his face. Foiled in his attempt to tackle Prying-Eagle and thoroughly lick his face, Kosha whines in temporary doggie dismay -- but, well, being a dog, he's easily distracted. A lanky Mongrel lad who owes the healthy state of an arm he'd shattered in an accident with his father's wagon to that shudra over there in black intercepts the hound and scritches him thoroughly, then presents him with a large haunch of smoked meat. Delighted, Kosha falls upon it hungrily, evidently now convinced that young Timothy is his new best friend. "Aye, she's got th' right of it then," says a gray-haired matron in the meantime, a Mongrel woman overseeing the arranging of the various foodstuffs folk have brought to this gathering. "Be after listenin' t' 'er, Miss Faanshi! Lyre'd nae want t' see ye cryin'!" "I know... he told me...." Er. Well. He told Faanshi this in a very strange dream, but she isn't about to actually say so here. The halfbreed catches herself and then appends, blinking tearily, "I-I mean... you speak wisely, Imphada..." With that, then, her attention is seized by Onaelian, and liquid leaf-green eyes raise their startled gaze up to the erstwhile captain. "Imphada," she asks earnestly, "have we met?" Her booming laugh is certainly befitting a captain -- a good deal more masculine and probably -portly- one at that. Onaelian shakes her head at the question, gesturing with her free hand over the pin. "No missy, no. But I've seen yer Talespinner afore, an' when I 'eard alla this was going on fer 'im, I thought it best t' come an' see ye." Shaking a finger in a scolding finger, she narrows a playful eye at Faanshi and threatens, "Now take this afore I give it else, gel." In the background, Masin has now raised to his feet and is crowing the last lines of the song at the top of his voice: Now she may be away, And my heart still feels heavy, But I'll drink on this day to her eyes.. Make no mistake, I miss her more than ever, It's just easier to laugh than to cry! Onaelian glares over her shoulder at the blonde fop, then cackles. "'as 'e been at th' drink already, then?" "G'on, then, Miss Faanshi, yer gonna hafta expect we're after showerin' stuff upon ye!" exhorts one of the other women, nodding her head in firm support of Onaelian, while a third admiringly eyes the onyx dolphin. Clearly deeply disconcerted by this entire concept, the halfbreed healer blinks several times, then breathes, "You honor me, Imphada..." This is clearly to the sailor woman, but the next words seem to be for everyone in earshot. "You all honor me... and Lyre, too...!" "Well of course! Buck up, lass, we'll sing 'im off right into his next life!" "'E was after marryin' up with 'er, y'ken?" a fourth woman whispers into Onaelian's ear, wisely. Nodding to the forth woman, Onaelian frowns. Small wonder she's such a mess; a pretty mess though, and likely to have at least one other good love in her life. Looking back to Faanshi now, she flashes a bright smile at the young woman and pats her on the shoulder. "Surrounded by friends an' people tha' wan' tae only wish ye th' best? Sounds righ' as rain o'er breakers t' me, missy. Go out 'n sing wit 'em all, yeah?" Pressing one hand to the front of her cuirass-corset and the other to her hip, the captain chuckles. "I certainly intend t' enjoy m'self, an' I wouldn't feel right if -you- weren't." Aha, a slip! Not that anyone would notice, right? Onaelian doesn't allow the dark flush that threatens her cheeks. "Next song! Next song!" someone cries, as Masin winds down his little ditty. Four young Mongrel men employed by the Pantheon are the next to take up the musical duties -- or perhaps more specifically, three of them start bellowing out encouragement to a shy, black-haired, blue-eyed young fellow with a tan. "But Ah-Ah didn't know what th' Talespinner sang, y'all!" comes a wail from said young singer. "Y'know 'Billy Peddle', doncha, Davey-lad? He sang that 'un all th' time, 'e did!" Shouts of support of this rise up, while the Mongrel singer named David grins a sheepish, crooked grin and points out, "Ain't got no words till th' end, though, but okay, okay, Ah'll do it...!" With that, then, someone begins to thump out a fast-paced rhythm on a hand-drum, while Nat, Jackie, and Breon lay down the opening chords of the reel. A full dozen folk are on their feet in a heartbeat, forming up a circle for dancing, just near the gathered throng of bards. Sing? _Here?_ Who, her? Faanshi has enough trouble trying to imagine herself singing where someone in Atesh-Gah could overhear her, let alone sing in the middle of a throng of revelling Mongrels. Accordingly, the teary-eyed young shudra doesn't even try to comment on that daunting prospect, but she does let some of the Mongrel women urge her to her feet. "Perhaps I could dance a little," she might be heard to murmur timidly. To Onaelian she gravely adds, "You said... that you saw him, once?" Tomain is swung over the head of her dance partner, shrieking over the music as she flies through the air. Masin has forsaken his harp to dance with the well-rounded Andrui, and all around the mongrels are doing their own variations on these themes. Onaelian is briefly distracted by the calls to David before the music begins, but the gentle shudra voice in her ear causes her to turn. "I did, missy, yes.. was a time ago, though." The older woman's smile is her best attempt at looking comforting. "'e certainly was a 'andsome lad, an' those pipes o' 'is were somet'in' from th' Gods." "Sang like whiskey hittin' th' blood, Lyre did!" comes the opinion from one of the nearby women, making several of her compatriots nod in vigorous assent. "Like cream on a cat's tongue!" pipes another. "Like... like a cloak all wool on th' one side, and velvet on th' other, an' keepin' ye warm all th' way through!" says a third, in a burst of poetic sentiment that earns her a full and fervent glance from Faanshi before the shudra turns her attention back to the captain. Laying the onyx pin down upon the blanket -- where it is being joined by a number of other items, fresh little packets of herbs, toys for the dog, and such -- she murmurs to Onaelian, "Indeed... a blessing from the gods...!" For her, this means Khalid Atar and his Holy Mother. Out of respect to the gathering she doesn't actually say so, though. Tonight, there's no room for arguing over who has the right gods. Tonight, there's only music and dance and camaraderie. Whatever the qualities of Lyre Talespinner's voice, none of them quite seem to apply to the resonant, vibrant young baritone pealing forth from David of the Pantheon, as the reel rolls around to the one sung verse it includes in the midst of measures of scampering melody with all the energy of the dog scurrying about the crowd: Billy Peddle, Billy Peddle, didja see Tom White? Billy Peddle, Billy Peddle, didja see Tom White? Billy Peddle, Billy Peddle, didja see Tom White? Gone around the harbor, gonna stay all night! Gone around the harbor, gonna get a dozen beer Gone around the harbor, gonna get away from here Gone around the harbor, gonna have a cup o' tea If you see Billy Peddle, tell 'im I wants he! Patting Faanshi's shoulder, the captain smiles brightly. "See? Ain't th' only one t' think as much about 'im." Leaving the shudra girl to the capable hands of the women surrounding her for Onaelian has never been one to deal with tears well, the woman wends her way around the periphery of the garden, occasionally slipping into shadow. There is someone in particular she wishes to see, now that the memory of him has popped back into her head. Pulling a small flask from her belt pouch, Onae takes a quick sip and stops for a moment to listen to the one lyricked verse of the song. She joins in at the second 'Gone around the harbor,' her own voice a tenor of questionable quality. The Mongrel women coax Faanshi, over protests that she doesn't know _how_ to dance, into the circle with the others. It's a strange sight, seeing a girl in Varati garb trying to work out the steps along with people who seem far more loose and free in their movements than she does -- but the halfbreed girl does perhaps have depths of untapped energy and grace within her, with those long legs of hers in their blue silwar. Under the encouragement of two of the young women she begins to seem to get the hang out of it, and soon enough she's dancing through the circle with the others, incongrous though she may appear in black sari and veil. The wake now appears to be going in earnest, and as the noise of the music carries clear out into the night, more and more passersby begin to come to investigate. Many Mongrels have claimed seats on the grass to watch the goings-on; some knew the man called the Talespinner, and readily start sharing tales of him with those that didn't. But Mongrels aren't the only ones being attracted to the revelry; here's a pair of Sylvans hastening up belatedly to join the darkling Empyrean, armed with tambourines. There, a girl in a blue velvet cloak with two men following along in her wake -- men who could only be guarding her -- might be spotted on the very outer edge of the crowd. Atlanteans, from the look of them. And from the look of the girl, she's positively enthralled by what she sees. From somewhere beneath her cloak she pulls out a fine set of bone pipes, and by way of holding these up for the inspection of the bemused Mongrels who see her coming, wins herself an invitation to join the musicians. Atlantean. Hrrrumph. One would think she would feel a sort of kinship with them, but Onaelian has little to no patience for the fishfolk. Casting a final, furitive glance about the garden, she shrugs and slinks off into the night. Time enough to find that dark man later.. Onaelian treks east to the crossing of Main and Border. Onaelian has left. [No other players showed up for the scene, ergo, end log!]